


OMG OMG OMG: The Winchesters Go To A Dr. Sexy Fan Convention

by cuddyclothes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Conventions, Crack, Doctor Sexy M.D., Gen, Gift Fic, Squee, Work Contains Fan(s) or Fandom(s), fanboy dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:39:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4187115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddyclothes/pseuds/cuddyclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crazed fanboy Dean drags an unwilling Sam to a Dr. Sexy, M.D. fan convention. </p><p>Written for theymp for LJ's spn_bigpretzel Spring Fling Fic Gift Exchange.  Artwork by angelus2hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean hadn’t slept all night in his excitement. As soon as they arrived in Weehawken, New Jersey, he had been in one big annoying transport of delight.  
  
“Look at this hotel!” he exclaimed, dropping his duffel on the queen-sized bed on the right side of the room. Dean always claimed the bed nearest the exit. The Weehawken Hyatt-Regency was more impressive than their usual skeevy motels. Their room was large, clean, with a big-screen tv and little paper-wrapped soaps in the marble bathroom. Sam sat on the other bed, trying to ignore the comfort of the pillow-top mattress. He had long decided he was not going to enjoy this weekend. They’d maxed out a stolen credit card to pay for this stupid trip. Two Golden Passes for Creation Entertainment’s Salute To Dr. Sexy Convention, meet and greet, karaoke and photo ops with Dr. Sexy.  
  
"Dean, leave the minibar alone, we don't have any more money."  
  
"That's what you think!" Dean straightened up, a Snickers bar in one hand and a tiny bottle of Jack Daniels in the other. “I created two more credit cards and cashed some bad checks. I’m gonna need MONEY this weekend!”  
  
“Okay,” Sam said with a sigh. “I’ll hang out here, do some research, maybe use the pool—“  
  
“Nuh-uh! I bought passes for BOTH of us! You’re coming with me, Sammy!”  
  


**OMG OMG**

  
The hotel lobby was so full of people it looked like it could burst. Mostly women of all ages and sizes, although there were a few men. Many of them wore doctor’s coats, and a bunch here and there wore bloody head bandages. One guy in a heavy tartan sweater had one arm. The din was incredible. Sam wished he had noise-cancelling headphones. And why were so many of the people in white coats wearing long stringy wigs?  
  
Another one-armed guy in a heavy tartan sweater walked up to Sam.  "Where's your hospital coat, lad?" he said in a heavy Scottish accent.  "If you're gonna do the height and the hair, you gotta be doin' the coat!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Don't mind him, Robert, he's a newb!  _Great_ costume!"  
  
"You know his name?" Sam asked as they walked away.  
  
"Nah, he's LARP'ing Robert!  Robert is the one-armed Scottish janitor who harbors a secret love for Dr. Wang.  He lost his arm in a centrifuge accident."  
  
Dean loved it. He even got excited when they registered (as Sam and Dean Portland) and the security people put pink wristbands on them.  
  
“I can’t believe we’re really here!” He stared up in awe at the huge banner:  
  


**WELCOME TO CREATION ENTERTAINMENT’S SALUTE TO DR. SEXY, M.D.  
WEEHAWKEN, NEW JERSEY**

  
Dean insisted on dragging Sam to the karaoke sign-up. ‘Waddya wanna sing, Sam?”  
  
“I’m not singing, Dean.”  
  
“Ha-ha, another spot for me!”  
  
“Be careful or you’ll stroke out before the convention starts.”  
  
“Not me, Sammy! I’m keeping it together until my photo op with Dr. Sexy!” Dean flipped through the sheets and chose two songs. He wouldn’t let Sam see what they were.  
  
Tall pillars ringing the lobby had huge photos of the actors on them. Dean pointed each one out.  
“That’s Dr. Ellen Piccolo – that’s Johnny Drake—he’s a ghost—that’s Dr. Wang—“ Dean’s voice shot up an octave “and _that’s Dr. Sexy_!!”  
  
“His real name is Joaquin Amarando?”  
  
Dean stared blissfully at the picture. “Joaquin would have played Captain America, but he had the Dr. Sexy commitment, so he couldn’t.”  
  
“Yeah, right,” Sam scoffed. “He gave up a huge movie to make a tv show.”  
  
“It’s his passion! He’ll do the show as long as there are good stories to tell! They've only done sixteen seasons.  Do you know how many things can go wrong with the human body? Besides turning into monsters?”  
  
Sam endured the vendor’s room, where every possible piece of merchandise that could be slapped with a Dr. Sexy logo was. Including cup-holders, Pez dispensers, and toilet seats.  
  
Most of the fans were women, cooing and stroking Dr. Sexy t-shirts. Dean snatched up a Dr. Sexy lanyard, a Dr. Sexy coffee table book, “The Story Of Sexy”; and a replica pair of Dr. Sexy cowboy boots.  
  
“You don’t even know if they’re your size!”  
  
“Who cares?” Dean examined a Dr. Sexy phone case, ignoring the fact he never used one phone for more than a month. “This is the best!” He scooped up the large red ball Dr. Sexy kept on his desk, rolling it back and forth when he was pondering a difficult case or an equally difficult love affair.  
  
“Cast panel starting in fifteen minutes” came over the loudspeaker.  
  
“SONUVABITCH!” Dean yelled, dropping the stuff in a heap on a table of fan calendars. “COME ON!”  
  
The two man raced through the lobby to where a line had already formed to get into the main ballroom. A huge security guard kept them from cutting the line. So they waited, Dean bouncing on his heels, complaining, “we won’t get good seats!”  
  
Rolling waves of fans went into the ballroom, squealing, laughing, and yelling “I CAN’T EVEN!” Dean found two seats on the aisle in a row near the back, cursing under his breath.  
  
“Won’t see them from here. I should’ve punched that security guy in the throat.”  
  
“Relax. Look at those.” Sam pointed at the huge screens on either side of the stage. Onstage was a long table with names at each seat. They didn’t mean anything to Sam. He’d left his laptop back in their hotel room. If only he had it now. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean slip a mini-bottle of whiskey out of his jacket and drain it in a gulp.  
  
There was a wave of applause. A nerdy girl in cats-eye-glasses took the podium.  
  
“Hi, Sexies!” she yelled. “This is so great! So  many of the Sexy Family are here today! We’ve got a great panel to start things off!”  
  
To cheers, Nerdy Girl called out the executive producer, the director, the writer, and the stars of “Dr. Sexy, MD”. Sam feared for his eardrums.  
  
“And Dr. Sexy himself, JOAQUIN ARMARANDO!”  
  
Sam clapped his hands over his ears. _There’s blood coming out of my ears, I know it._ Dean screamed his lungs out.  
  
“JOAQUIN! YOU’RE THE MAN! **YOU’RE THE MAN!** DR. SEXY!”  
  
“Dean, you are such a girl,” Sam muttered, but it was lost in the audience noise.  
  
Joaquin Amarando smiled, waved, winked at some of the women in the front row. He was tall, handsome, with shoulder-length dark brown hair. He sat next to Kristin Filer, a tiny brunette who played the female lead, Dr. Ellen Piccolo.  
  
“Okay, Family, let’s settle,” Nerdy Girl said. She turned to the executive producer, a chubby bespectacled guy with dyed black hair that had been gelled to stand straight up. “Let’s talk about this AMAZEBALLS past season of Dr. Sexy!”  
  
To Sam, everything was just _blah blah blah blah blah_. Dean was being the most annoying fangirl in the universe. One of the actors, a blond guy who played an intern, was asked, “Back in Season One, when you left something in your car and went back for it, what did you leave in your car?”  
  
Dean leaned over. “I hate this dude. He’s too pretty to be an intern. Looks like a damn fashion model.” He pointed toward Dr. Sexy. “Doesn’t he have the greatest hair in the universe? I’d sell my soul for hair like that. No, for real, I would!”  
  
The actor stared at the fan. “Uh...I don’t remember that far back...that was fifteen years ago..."  
  
“It was ‘My Wild Irish Rose,’ Season One, Episode Ten. Sean talks to Dr. Piccolo, then Dr. Wang comes in and Sean tells Dr. Piccolo he left something in his car.”  
  
The actor laughed nervously. “I don’t know—maybe my keys—“  
  
"This guy is still playing an intern after fifteen years?" Sam whispered to Dean, who glared at him.  
  
"Yeah, what's wrong with that?"  
  
Sam shrugged.  It felt like four hours passed before the panel was over. Sam could tell the actors were getting all of the medical terminology wrong. The raucous fans around him held up phones and tablets, snapping pictures and recording videos.  
  
“I LOVE YOU JOAQUIN!” a woman next to Sam screamed. He nearly jumped out of his skin.  
When they filed back out to the lobby, Dean was one happy camper. “That was...I can’t even...I’d flail but I’m too worn out.”  
  
“Flail? Why would you flail?”  
  
Dean gave his brother a condescending look. “You’re not one of the Sexy Family. You don’t understand.”  
  
“No, I don’t. Dean, this is just weird.”  
  
“Look, Mr. Buzzkill, I’m going back to the vendor room. Why don’t you go upstairs to the room and pretend there’s something more interesting than this show? Because there isn’t! We’ll meet back here for Kristin Filer’s panel, and if you’re late, I will punch you in the face!”  
  
Sam couldn’t get out of there fast enough.  
  


**OMG OMG**

  
  
Kristin Filer’s panel was held in a much smaller ballroom, with a large black cloth backdrop between two pillars, these also covered with large photos. On the way in to the ballroom, a girl screamed, “OMG, IT’S JOHNNY DRAKE!”  
  
A medium-sized rugged man with a scraggy beard was passing. He wore sunglasses and an exhausted expression.  
  
“Johnny Drake—you’re alive!” said another girl, and laughed like a hyena.  
  
“Thanks. That joke _never_ gets old.” Johnny Drake looked like he wanted to kill himself. He stalked off into the crowd, presumably to drink himself unconscious.  
  
This time Dean forced his way to the front row, elbowing a protesting fan away from her seat. “I’m getting a good look at Kristin,” he leered to Sam. “She is a babe.”  
  
“These aren’t our seats, Dean.”  
  
“They are now.”  
  
Sam shook his head, and slumped into the chair next to his brother. Maybe Kristin Filer would get the medical terminology right.  
  
She didn’t.  
  
Dean didn’t care.  
  
Sam did. He managed to escape the rest of the panels, lest he stand up and yell, “Testacle swelling is not colitis! It’s _orchitis,_ you freaks!”  
  


**OMG OMG**

  
  
They ate a room service dinner. Dean ordered a burger with every possible side dish, beers from the mini bar, and pie ala mode. Sam ate a Cobb salad and reluctantly accepted a beer. He needed it, to listen to his brother wax rhapsodic about the actor panels.  
  
“And Bud Tabbs—the guy who plays Johnny Drake—he was drunk off his ass and couldn’t stop giggling! He almost fell off the stage!”  
  
Dean jumped up, a plate of creamed spinach clattering to the floor. “Oh, shit! We gotta get downstairs! It’s karaoke time!!”  
  


**OMG OMG**

  
  
The ballroom was not only crowded, there were colored lights and an amateur fan band, Seattle Mercy Rockers, onstage. Sam was squeezed by the hot, sweaty crowd. His skin crawled; he hated crowds. Nerdy Girl was up there again. “ARE YOU READY TO PART-AY WITH THE SEXIES?” she yelled.  
  
“WE’RE SEXIES!” the crowd yowled. A woman dressed in a bathing suit made from a hospital blanket winked at Sam.  
  
“ARE YOU READY FOR SOME KARAOKE, SEXY-STYLE?”  
  
Another yowl from the crowd. Sam realized Dean wasn’t next to him. He scanned for the room and saw his brother right at the lip of the stage, jumping up and down. “Pick me! Pick me!”  
  
Nerdy Girl looked at the list, and gestured Dean to the stage. Dean licked his lips in embarrassment and happiness. “Dean Portland, what are you going to sing for us?”  
  
“My favorite song from Dr. Sexy! You Belong To Me by Taylor Swift!”  
  
_Taylor Swift?_ Sam thought. _The fuck?_ The band kicked in and Dean proceeded to murder the song. Sam’s brother was tone-deaf, but nobody cared. Except Nerdy Girl and the band.  
  
_“She wears high heels, I wear sneakers,_  
she’s the captain and I’m in the bleachers—“  
  
When the song finished, Dean took a bow, grinning like he’d won American Idol.  
  
“Up next,” Nerdy Girl announced, “Sam Portland!”  
  
“Nah, he can’t sing worth a damn,” Dean said quickly. “I’m taking his place!”  
  
Nerdy Girl gave him a look. “Okay,” she said slowly, her voice filled with dread. “What are you going to give us next?”  
  
“Remember the scene where Ellen Piccolo is crying by the fire because she killed that guy, and Dr. Sexy comes in with his shirt off and they make out? Remember? There was this  great song—I Will Always Love You! Whitney Houston.”  
  
Nerdy Girl grimaced a smile and signaled the Seattle Mercy Rockers.  
  
_“AND I-UH-I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU—OO—OO, WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU—OO—OO—“_  
  
Sam shoved his way through the crowd to the bar. He was going to need a lot of beer.


	2. OMG OMG OMG Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go terribly wrong at the photo op.

Sam woke up fuzzy-headed, his ears still ringing. For hours he had been trapped by the bar in the back, listening to fans mangle pop tunes. Another one-armed “Robert” sang “One Arm Steve.” Several of the actors showed up and some of them could actually sing. The crowd never stopped screaming. It was like being trapped in the world’s worst Justin Beiber concert.

It was 3:30 AM. Dean’s bed had not been slept in. There was no sign of him.

“Dean! Dean?” Out of instinct, Sam pulled his gun out from under his pillow.  He looked in the bathroom. Then he opened the door. The corridor was empty, piled-up room service trays outside the rooms like small piles of garbage. A hotel convention was an ideal place for a monster to strike. Maybe one of those women in hospital blankets were demons. He should have brought along his holy water.

“Dean!” Sam tucked his gun into the waistband of his sweat pants, and stealthily made his way toward the service stairs. He yanked them open.

“ _Dean_ ,” he hissed.

There was no sound, except a tv from another room. Sam ran down the stairs, but none of the doors opened onto the next floor. Finally, a door opened. It was another floor devoted to business conventions. Small groups were sitting in armchairs around glass tables, or on the floor. Sam peered out. He was about to close the door when he saw Dean.

Sitting on the floor in the middle of a circle of women. Dean had one arm flung around the shoulders of a heavy woman wearing a bloody head bandage and hospital pajamas.

“So, handsome, when did you start watching Dr. Sexy?” the woman asked Dean.

“Seven years ago. My job has a lot of downtime. Then I got the DVDs—I had to wait until my tight-ass brother went on a trip to visit a guy who's kind of like our stepdad, and I watched the first eight seasons in two days! It was the best two days of my life! What about you, sweetheart?”

“I was hooked from the pilot.” The woman giggled, to nods and smiles from the group. “How can any woman resist Dr. Sexy?”

"He's amazing," Dean agreed. "He makes me cry."

"I KNOW!" she said.  "My God, when he looks at Ellen, and that _face_...watch out for exploded ovaries!"

"What?" Dean asked.

Another woman leaned forward. “If you want to know what I think, I think Joaquin and Ted have been in a love affair since the first season!”

“But they’re both _married_!” said a young one-armed girl in a tartan sweater.

The woman laughed. “You have a lot to learn, little missy.”

“Dean!” Sam called from the open door.

Dean looked up, eyes glassy from booze. “Hey, little brother, come join the party! It’s been nonstop Dr. Sexy here! I have found MY PEOPLE!”

Sam grimaced, slammed the door shut and headed up the stairs. Another day of this crap.

  
**OMG OMG**  


A few hours later, Sam lifted his head from the pillow. Dean was already up and dressed. There was an empty donut box on the floor. "Rise and shine, Sammy, It’s time for the meet and greets!”

“Jesus, Dean, leave me here. I don’t care.”

“I don’t know why I brought you here. You’re trying to spoil all my fun!”

“We define fun differently. Go see your actors. I’m going back to sleep.”

It seemed like only five minutes had passed when Dean burst into the room like a tornado. “Sam! Get your lazy ass up! We’ll be late for the photo ops! Joaquin Armando’s the first one!”

“Dean, I don’t—“

“I get it, I do. You don’t want to stand next to somebody taller than you. Come on, I bought both of us ops! Move it!”

Sam was definitely going to kill Dean.

The lobby was even fuller than the day before. Today was Joaquin Armando’s solo panel, Dean explained, eyes alight. “I’m gonna ask him about that scene with Dr. Wang and the turtle!”

“How is he supposed to remember that? Haven’t they been on the air in...forever? It feels that way.”

“I can’t wait to hear him explain it. It’s gonna be a hoot!”

They got onto another huge line for the photo ops. Sam wanted to go home. He couldn’t take the shrill excitement, the sheer number of people, the noise. All for a show he knew nothing about. Except that it turned his brother into a spaz.

The actors stood on large rolls of gray paper. In a matter of seconds, a fan (usually female) came up, told the actor the pose they wanted, photo taken, boom! On to the next one. It was like lightning.

Joaquin Amarando really was something in person. He had star quality. His hair rippled, his eyes gleamed, he was a beautiful man. Thinking about a guy that way made Sam uncomfortable, but Dean’s expression was one of pure worship.

The actor hugged one fan after another after another, smiling as if they were his best friends. And he _was_ taller than Sam.  The only being Sam had seen taller than himself was a giant Golem.

“Dude, you’re trembling,” Sam whispered.

“Am not,” said Dean in an unnaturally high voice.

“Gonna ask for a hug?”

“ _Shut up_.”

They were at the front of the line. Dean pushed Sam forward.

“Hi.” Amarando gave Sam a dazzling smile.

“Hi.” Sam didn’t know what to do. Amarando grabbed Sam around the shoulders and smiled at the camera.

“NEXT!”

“Dude, he _touched_ you!”

“Shut up.”

Dean took his place, smiling shyly at his idol. “Hi,” said Amarando. “Do you have a pose?”

“Hi. This has been my dream. Could you hold my gun, point it at me and I make like I’m pissing my pants?” Dean pulled out his pearl-handled pistol. Amarando stared down at it.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” The actor scrambled backwards, behind his enormous bodyguard.  
There was a massive indrawn breath from the crowd, then screaming.

“SECURITY!”

Dean didn’t seem to understand what was happening. “My photo!”

“Dean!” Sam grabbed Dean and towed him through the crowd, body blocking past fans and security to the side stairs. They pounded up the stairs to their floor.

“Dammit, Sam, I didn’t get my photo!”

“Dean, we’re going to get arrested! Come on!”

“But my photo!”

“Screw your photo! You’ve got a Dr. Sexy duffle bag!” Sam threw their stuff into his bag, and zipped it up.

“I want my damn photo! Lemme make sure I got the recording of the meeting and greet—“

“DEAN WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THAT!”

The brothers ran out of the room to the back stairs. Sam heard the hotel security guards pounding on their door. They made it out the back way and to the car. Sam had to drive because Dean was too busy complaining and wanting to go back to the convention.

“Dean, are you insane?”

All the way home, Sam had to listen to Dean alternately bitch about his lost photo op and “squee,” as it was apparently called, about the show, the fans, and the karaoke.

Dean sighed happily, leaning back against the passenger seat. “Well, maybe I didn’t get my photo, but I know one thing. I’m Sexy.”

“Yeah, Dean, you’re Sexy.”


End file.
